Obi-Wan has no way to respond to most of what she says; anything he can think of, even if he had good intentions in saying it, has the potential to make her sad or angry. Instead, he merely wraps his arms around her for a moment in comfort and understanding. He doesn't like the deception both of them had created, but in the grand scheme of things, it's the lowest on his list of issues. What's done is done, and all they can do now is move forward.
"Your sister's children most probably weren't nearly as Force-sensitive as these two. Which makes them sensitive in general. I remember sometimes as punishment while I was still an apprentice, if we were at the Temple, I was assigned shifts in the creche. It was bizarre to have moments of absolute solitude, only to be suddenly disrupted by twenty infants and small ones all crying at what seemed to be the exact same moment. There was a reason we had 4 Jedi per shift to take care of them all." Truth be told, it often felt like even having twice that many wouldn't have been sufficient.
He'd hated that assignment, even while he'd rather enjoyed playing with the children old enough to verbalize. But now he misses it. And finds he's unbelievably grateful that, no matter how they came to this place, that he gets to once again take care of children.
The embrace is probably more welcome than words anyway, Obi-Wan's form solid and warm, more present than turbulent emotions or now dead dreams. And so she stays, leaning against his shoulder until he's willing to break the contact.
"Four Jedi for twenty infants and little ones sounds like not enough. Though it is sad that such an assignment was used for punishment, I always liked helping my sister with her children when I was home." Which wasn't nearly as often as she would have liked, now that she had two of her own to care for, and her mother, sister, grandparents, cousins, all so far away.
"I wasn't going to hand my child over to the creche. That's why I didn't tell you I was expecting. I didn't want to put you in the middle. Or hurt you." She makes the confession quietly, but there's no wavering in her voice, her mind long made up. It was a privilege of social rank, even if, considering Palpatine, one that wasn't always a great idea, to be able to refuse a 'request' from the Jedi.
"It was only a punishment for me. Meant to teach me patience. It only partly succeeded," he says with amusement.
Listening solemnly to her confession, he nods, looking away for a moment. "I don't know what I would have done, had things been different. Had I been put in the middle."
Obi-Wan doesn't ask how Anakin felt about her decision; one thing he's learned over the past couple decades dealing with all variations of cultures and beings - the mother-figure is the one you respect above all else. He also doesn't say he wouldn't have been hurt, because if things had been different - if he hadn't already been broken and raw from learning of Anakin's betrayal - he very well might have felt betrayed when he figured out whose children she carried. That he'd been lied to, by both of them.
It doesn't matter now, though. None of it does, because that world is well and truly gone. They have nowhere to go but forward, into unknown territory.
"Still. You'll see it when they are less new, they're so wonderful, even
when you are exhausted, surprise and joy when they manage something new,
like rolling over or walking. Learning words. You'll love them." Of that
part of their future, she was sure.
"I don't either. It's not your fault, it's not. I just can't bear the
thought of them being so far away from me. " It wasn't true, not really,
not even mostly. But she could soften the blow by making it about her
failings. "But I am so glad you will be here with me, with us. I can't
think of a better man for them have as an uncle." And that was entirely
sincere and even relieved, that Obi-Wan would be part of her children's
lives.
Obi-Wan finds himself of two minds now, having been with the twins and their mother since their birth, having helped shoulder even part of the responsibility of taking care of them. He understands why the younglings were taken from their families as infants to be raised by the Order, has seen - is living - the consequences of trying to train someone who's already formed emotional attachments to caregivers, friends and places.
And it's not as if the younglings aren't cared for, aren't nurtured until they're old enough to start the Force games that are the foundation for learning to be a Jedi. But it's true, no one caregiver puts a single child above the others; he'd never felt the unconditional love from any of them that he sees in Padmé, even now when they're away from the babies.
Even as a trained Jedi Master, he would find it extremely difficult to give the twins up to the creche, and they aren't even his children.
... if the creche were still there. If Anakin hadn't--
"Uncle Obi-Wan," he murmurs, chuckling softly at the idea. But that gets him thinking about when they're older, but not old enough yet to understand how to keep things secret. "No. Perhaps it should be 'Uncle Ben.' Obi-Wan... I think Obi-Wan should be laid to rest. With the other ghosts of the past. When the younglings were learning to talk, they often called me Ben as a nickname. I wouldn't mind becoming Ben full-time."
It's not exactly a new start, but he feels good about the idea. A small weight, but a weight nonetheless, lifted off his shoulders. He's not a Jedi Master anymore; the Jedi are dead. Now he's just the honorary uncle to two small children who need him, and companion to their mother, whom he needs as much as she might need him.
Unconditionally love is such a small phrase. Anakin had used it once, to describe how he saw compassion. Had used it to describe his love for her. It was too small a phrase for burning passion of the man. It was too small a phrase to describe the deep well overflowing with emotions Padmè felt for the two tiny babies.
"Uncle Ben." It's so simply settled for Padmè, the change in name. Tsabin to Sabè. Obi-Wan to Ben. "Amidala must vanish too. And the Naberrie Clan is small but not unknown. I don't believe Anakin's stepfather would mind my use of his last name. When they are old enough to understand, we can explain." She can't save her beloved Republic ( but the Rebellion against Palpatine bears her Goddess' crest and Mon Montha and Bail Organa live). She can't save Anakin ( not yet her heart insists ). She can't protect her people by being on Naboo ( Sachè and Eritè and Rabè and Montè well lead in her stead and in her name ). She can't save three of the things she loves the most. But she can two of the others.
Padmè Lars and Ben Kenobi, Coruscanti refugees. Luke and Leia Lars, born in hyperspace and without a home system. This is the face they will wear. She can get travel papers from people. Sabè will be her shadow, she knows. She won't need to ask. They are tiny and isolated right now but they are not alone. The thought isn't comforting, it's fortifying and she grips Ben's upper arm in her hand, looks him level in the eyes. Her face may still be putty and speckled with red from pregnancy and childbirth. She might still be splotchy and eyes rimmed red with exhaustion and tears. But there is strength to her jaw and will in her countenance.
It's the face she's written in public for over a decade now. "It's going to be difficult, possibly the worse ordeal we've faced. We met under invasion and peril, and now find ourselves in worse. But this is not the end of our lives nor all we've worked for. These children are a blessing in a time in darkness. Life will always reign triumphant over chaos. We just have to work together."
She needs a break from newborn care. But Padmè will never truly stop working - and they both need a goal she thinks.
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"Your sister's children most probably weren't nearly as Force-sensitive as these two. Which makes them sensitive in general. I remember sometimes as punishment while I was still an apprentice, if we were at the Temple, I was assigned shifts in the creche. It was bizarre to have moments of absolute solitude, only to be suddenly disrupted by twenty infants and small ones all crying at what seemed to be the exact same moment. There was a reason we had 4 Jedi per shift to take care of them all." Truth be told, it often felt like even having twice that many wouldn't have been sufficient.
He'd hated that assignment, even while he'd rather enjoyed playing with the children old enough to verbalize. But now he misses it. And finds he's unbelievably grateful that, no matter how they came to this place, that he gets to once again take care of children.
no subject
"Four Jedi for twenty infants and little ones sounds like not enough. Though it is sad that such an assignment was used for punishment, I always liked helping my sister with her children when I was home." Which wasn't nearly as often as she would have liked, now that she had two of her own to care for, and her mother, sister, grandparents, cousins, all so far away.
"I wasn't going to hand my child over to the creche. That's why I didn't tell you I was expecting. I didn't want to put you in the middle. Or hurt you." She makes the confession quietly, but there's no wavering in her voice, her mind long made up. It was a privilege of social rank, even if, considering Palpatine, one that wasn't always a great idea, to be able to refuse a 'request' from the Jedi.
no subject
Listening solemnly to her confession, he nods, looking away for a moment. "I don't know what I would have done, had things been different. Had I been put in the middle."
Obi-Wan doesn't ask how Anakin felt about her decision; one thing he's learned over the past couple decades dealing with all variations of cultures and beings - the mother-figure is the one you respect above all else. He also doesn't say he wouldn't have been hurt, because if things had been different - if he hadn't already been broken and raw from learning of Anakin's betrayal - he very well might have felt betrayed when he figured out whose children she carried. That he'd been lied to, by both of them.
It doesn't matter now, though. None of it does, because that world is well and truly gone. They have nowhere to go but forward, into unknown territory.
no subject
"Still. You'll see it when they are less new, they're so wonderful, even when you are exhausted, surprise and joy when they manage something new, like rolling over or walking. Learning words. You'll love them." Of that part of their future, she was sure.
"I don't either. It's not your fault, it's not. I just can't bear the thought of them being so far away from me. " It wasn't true, not really, not even mostly. But she could soften the blow by making it about her failings. "But I am so glad you will be here with me, with us. I can't think of a better man for them have as an uncle." And that was entirely sincere and even relieved, that Obi-Wan would be part of her children's lives.
no subject
And it's not as if the younglings aren't cared for, aren't nurtured until they're old enough to start the Force games that are the foundation for learning to be a Jedi. But it's true, no one caregiver puts a single child above the others; he'd never felt the unconditional love from any of them that he sees in Padmé, even now when they're away from the babies.
Even as a trained Jedi Master, he would find it extremely difficult to give the twins up to the creche, and they aren't even his children.
... if the creche were still there. If Anakin hadn't--
"Uncle Obi-Wan," he murmurs, chuckling softly at the idea. But that gets him thinking about when they're older, but not old enough yet to understand how to keep things secret. "No. Perhaps it should be 'Uncle Ben.' Obi-Wan... I think Obi-Wan should be laid to rest. With the other ghosts of the past. When the younglings were learning to talk, they often called me Ben as a nickname. I wouldn't mind becoming Ben full-time."
It's not exactly a new start, but he feels good about the idea. A small weight, but a weight nonetheless, lifted off his shoulders. He's not a Jedi Master anymore; the Jedi are dead. Now he's just the honorary uncle to two small children who need him, and companion to their mother, whom he needs as much as she might need him.
no subject
"Uncle Ben." It's so simply settled for Padmè, the change in name. Tsabin to Sabè. Obi-Wan to Ben. "Amidala must vanish too. And the Naberrie Clan is small but not unknown. I don't believe Anakin's stepfather would mind my use of his last name. When they are old enough to understand, we can explain." She can't save her beloved Republic ( but the Rebellion against Palpatine bears her Goddess' crest and Mon Montha and Bail Organa live). She can't save Anakin ( not yet her heart insists ). She can't protect her people by being on Naboo ( Sachè and Eritè and Rabè and Montè well lead in her stead and in her name ). She can't save three of the things she loves the most. But she can two of the others.
Padmè Lars and Ben Kenobi, Coruscanti refugees. Luke and Leia Lars, born in hyperspace and without a home system. This is the face they will wear. She can get travel papers from people. Sabè will be her shadow, she knows. She won't need to ask. They are tiny and isolated right now but they are not alone. The thought isn't comforting, it's fortifying and she grips Ben's upper arm in her hand, looks him level in the eyes. Her face may still be putty and speckled with red from pregnancy and childbirth. She might still be splotchy and eyes rimmed red with exhaustion and tears. But there is strength to her jaw and will in her countenance.
It's the face she's written in public for over a decade now. "It's going to be difficult, possibly the worse ordeal we've faced. We met under invasion and peril, and now find ourselves in worse. But this is not the end of our lives nor all we've worked for. These children are a blessing in a time in darkness. Life will always reign triumphant over chaos. We just have to work together."
She needs a break from newborn care. But Padmè will never truly stop working - and they both need a goal she thinks.